


What We Leave in the Desert

by xeniaraven



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Brief Non-Con, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I promise a happy ending, M/M, Mentions of non-con, No Underage Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Trauma, Violence, Whipping, Wound Cleaning, dark themes, this is slavery so take dark themes as you will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xeniaraven/pseuds/xeniaraven
Summary: Anakin Skywalker was never found by Qui-Gon Jinn. He has remained a slave for his entire life. What happens when Obi-Wan Kenobi gets captured, ending up owned by the same slaver that has Anakin? And what happens when Anakin finally turns 18?Work in progress. Please note the tags.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 31
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my first ever contribution to Obikin. Some groundskeeping before we get started. 
> 
> First, thank you so much for reading. I've been thinking this up for a while now and I'm excited to share it. 
> 
> Second, this fic will eventually lead into some very dark territory. I will always note trigger warnings at the beginning of a chapter if there are themes present that are more than just violence. I'll post a summary of the chapter in the endnotes if you feel the need to skip. 
> 
> Third, while Anakin begins this story underage there is absolutely no underage sexual content. We do not and will never stan that in this household. Anakin is 17 to begin. Obi-Wan is 20. 
> 
> Fourth, enjoy! And a big shout out to everyone I begged to read this a million times.

Tatooine is a lawless place; the sun beats hot on the residents and dust storms threaten to swallow each town littered across the sandy wasteland. What wasn’t pure sand and rock came in the form of small cities, void of any true color to them. Whitewashed stone houses with weathered front doors. If the metal doors weren’t keeping you inside, the infinite sandstorms and inability to make enough credits to escape the planet certainly did. 

Being strong isn’t the way to survive, mentally or physically. You have to be smart. Cunning. One step ahead of everyone else around you or you’re gone to the Tusken Raiders in a second. It wasn’t the life anyone asked for, but it was the life every inhabitant had to live.

Off-worlders know nothing of how to survive on an Outer Rim planet, much less one that doesn’t comply with Republic laws. Everything was a fight for survival. You against the vast Dune Sea, hoping to keep your head above shifting sands. 

Anakin at 17 standard years knew far too much about a life of dust storms and disappointments. 

The ginger that was thrown into the room seemed to know nothing of a Tatooine kind of life. 

“Get off me!” The newcomer snarled, his yell echoing off the grimey walls. While everyone’s gaze shifted to the scene developing in the middle of the room, Anakin kept eating his food, picking small chunks out of his bread. Nothing he hadn’t already seen before.

“Or what?” one of the guards laughed at him, pushing him back to the ground. “Are your _Jedi mind tricks_ going to save you?”

_A Jedi_? Anakin thought, shifting his focus from the dinner plate in front of him to the angry presence in the room. The man looked like a mess: hair disheveled and tunic askew. His brow held dried blood from whatever fights he picked on his way over, and that was little to say about the ponytail he sported. 

But everyone’s thoughts about him started to change: a Jedi? There had never, not in anyone’s living history, been a Jedi brought in. Anakin knew everyone was thinking the same thing: how far is he going to push it?

“We do far more than mind tricks,” the man smirked, throwing his hand out in front of him as if that would push the guard to the ground. Again and again, he tried, much to Anakin’s amusement. 

_Not so tough after all, huh?_

“Awhh,” Desmir, the guard who this disheveled man decided to pick a fight with, cooed. “Poor little Jedi can’t use his powers anymore.” Frena, the female guard next to Desmir kicked the man hard in his ribs, causing him to clutch at his middle. “You’ll be hard to break.”

As Desmir and Frena turned to leave, the rest of the slaves turned back to dinner. Anakin didn’t need to look closely to see the handfuls of food being passed from plate to plate. As a kid he might have even participated, betting on how much of a beating a freshy would take before the guards would finally deem it enough. But now it was as if he couldn’t get enough food in his stomach, and he wasn’t about to risk any of it on things that didn’t matter. 

He considered though: when was the last time this newcomer ate? They’re normally thrown a plate with a portion before the guards leave, but it looks like either Master is running out of food, or somewhere along the line the Jedi pissed them off enough to get dinner privileges revoked. 

His mother taught him better than to leave a person in need. 

“You hungry?” Anakin asked, standing tall above the man.

“I can survive without,” he groaned. “Thank you.”

Anakin had never heard an accent like his before. Dripping with luxury and poshness, he could tell this man was from somewhere far away from here. Manners too. _Thank you_ didn’t exist in the vocabulary of anyone he had come to know on Tattooine. Well, besides the slaves he called family. 

“An impressive show you put on back there,” he said, sitting on the floor in front of the ginger. “Especially for someone so new. . . I’m Anakin. Anakin Skywalker.”

He smiled around his food, trying his best to be friendly, much to the visual disgust of the man across from him. Food was far more important than manners and the freshy would have to figure that out sooner rather than later. 

“Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said, smiling curtly back at the boy in front of him. 

Anakin finished his dinner, licking every crumb off his plate before setting it down with a loud thud: a layer of sand and dust on the floor rushed towards his legs with a burst of air. 

“Welcome to chaos,” Anakin said, one leg spread in front of himself, the other bent and clutched tightly against his chest. 

As with every freshy, Anakin made a game of studying them and creating his own version of their backstory--a game his mother had taught him, to imagine a world beyond white and tan. Whether or not it was anywhere near accurate was a different story, but to Anakin it kept the world interesting. Something to occupy his every living week. 

Obi-Wan sported dark circles under his eyes, a few small scrapes darting across his cheeks, and a small smattering of blood across his chin. A fighter, as was the nature of the Jedi from what Anakin knew. Obi-Wan’s flashy metal belt and layers upon layers of tunics meant money. No one could afford more than two layers out here: much less a metal belt and leather shoes. Fighter and wealthy. Anakin already decided the Jedi might not be everything he thought they would be if they were hoarding all the wealth. 

“I’m sorry but, what part of the galaxy are we in?” Obi-Wan asked into the silence, stirring Anakin out of his imagination. 

“Outer Rim. We’re on Tatooine. I don’t expect you to have ever heard of it.” Anakin laid down on the floor, stretching his limbs as far as they could go. 

“I’ve never seen so much sand in my entire life.” Anakin thought he almost heard a laugh under Obi-Wan’s phrase. Maybe it was just the accent.

“Yeah, the place is like ninety percent sand. I’d say you get used to it but you really don’t. It gets everywhere and makes wash day a nightmare.”

“Interesting,” Obi-Wan trailed off, moving to tug at something near his head that was no longer there. Anakin watched as his face went from intrigue to sadness, then back to neutrality. He might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyperaware of the new presence.

“Oh,” Anakin started. “Before you ask, the collar is a force suppressor thing. I guess chips don’t work well on people like you or me, so we get pretty collars instead.” Anakin wiggled his eyebrows at the man, earning him a bemused look. “Don’t even try to pick at it though. It’ll shock at least a thousand volts into you if you try. Trust me, it’s not fun.”

“Duly noted,” Obi-Wan said. “So why do you have one?”

“I guess when I was really young I did something to freak the guards out. Or at least that’s what my mom used to tell me. So they rounded me up and,” Anakin imitated the collar around his neck, clicking his tongue as it shut. “Before you I was the only one, so I guess we’re something of twins now. Best friend collars.”

“Sure. . . But maybe for now just acquaintance collars. It is surprising that the Council didn’t find you though. I was under the impression that our records kept the names of _all_ force-sensitive younglings.”

“Not all of us,” Anakin frowned. “I bet it’s the same reason slavery still exist out here, and why we get away without complying to Republic laws. No one cares about an Outer Rim planet.”

“That isn’t true Anakin,” Obi-Wan said hurriedly as if reaching out to Anakin without moving a muscle. “We do care. We just-”

“I know, bigger problems in the world.” Anakin smiled sadly at him as an uneasy silence grew between them. 

“So where do we sleep?” Obi-Wan asked to break the silence. 

Anakin patted the floor next to him as an invitation. He watched as Obi-Wan studied him. Clearly he never had to sleep in anything other than a bed. Maybe a mat. Anakin could give him that. But the hard stone and sand flooring? That was an entirely different world. 

“They don’t even provide you with basic necessities?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Anakin snorted. “These are basic necessities. Two meals a day. Roof over your head. Fresher to share. This is actually luxury compared to what some others get.”

“This is dreadful.” Obi-Wan rolled over, again and again, trying to find an angle where his shoulder wasn’t being painfully shoved into the ground. “How do you ever sleep?”

“I’ve slept on the ground my entire life. You get used to it.”

Suddenly Desmir came into the room again, yelling “Lights out!” causing Obi-Wan to jump. Anakin whistled loudly into the room, earning him numerous groans as the other slaves groggily came to him. 

Anakin felt as his head was picked up from underneath, gently placed in someone’s lap. 

“Will you ever grow up Skywalker?” Someone laughed as Anakin simply waited for everyone to get settled. 

“Three more moons and I’m 18. I’ll be an adult before you know it Alahsay,” Anakin yawned, settling in with the other slaves around him. The air got cold overnight and everyone decided years ago that if they were going to raise Anakin that they might as well get used to pack sleeping for warmth too. All eyes on the kid, and all warmth shared between bodies. It was perhaps the one and only time everyone was looking out for each other. 

As Anakin slowly drifted he caught sight of Obi-Wan, the only one not cramming his way into the pile. Anakin smiled at him hazily, hoping it came off as an invitation rather than creepy. Obi-Wan simply curled into himself, avoiding contact with all the other people, and using the crook of his elbow as a pillow for the night. 

“If I hear anyone talking,” Desmir yelled out. “It’s twenty whips in the morning! You too Skywalker!”

Anakin smirked, saying goodnight to everyone, Obi-Wan included, before finally slipping off to sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings needed.

Anakin was used to waking before the others when there was a new presence in the room, and today was no different. There was something about someone new: someone who could still peacefully sleep by themselves. Someone who wasn’t broken. 

Someone entirely unlike himself. 

He had heard Obi-Wan’s groaning in the night, not used to the grimy floor that they all shared. Anakin had gotten used to the way the dust settled into the creases of his skin overnight, the weird smell of the entire room, and the way his shoulder would always hurt more in the morning. He learned to relax into everything, and most importantly to enjoy the ways his joints cracked right when he laid down, and right when he got up in the morning. 

For now, he was content to watch Obi-Wan sleeping, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way it seemed that he had finally succumbed to his own exhaustion if only to catch a few hours of sleep. The worry of being a slave hadn’t made its way into the corners of his eyes yet. He hadn’t learned to curl up in a ball overnight to avoid others pick-pocketing you.

Anakin could tell innocence wasn’t what sat high upon his brow: but rather a lack of _knowing_ . Of _seeing_ the world for what it truly was. Somewhere deep within him he wished he had been given the same courtesy of being blind. 

“Rise and shine!” Frena yelled, knocking her staff loudly three times against the metal door after it zipped closed. She loomed over the room, chin held high and a smirk across her face. “Breakfast.”

Desmir came in next, holding rusty plates and portions, the usual morning accord. You’d grab a plate from Frena and a portion from Desmir, wanting nothing more than to knock the smirk off their stupid faces. Always up to something, and never anything good. 

Anakin stretched, trying to get the knots out of his neck and back from where he had laid all night. Slowly the others rose, groaning from the hard floor, yawning from the day. With no sunlight reaching inside it was difficult to make a sleep schedule, not to mention they weren’t sure what time they would be woken every morning. 

Anakin turned to see Obi-Wan, stretching his legs out, reaching to touch his toes before standing, never making a noise. He moved with a serenity that wasn’t seen out in these parts. A poise that Anakin could only think to call regal. 

“Thanks Desmir,” Anakin said quietly as he grabbed his portion. 

“Oh wait, half-portion for the freshy,” Frena said. 

Anakin turned to wait for Obi-Wan at the end of the line. He didn’t complain. Didn’t fight. Simply took his plate, half portion, and followed Anakin to the opposite end of the room, leaning against the rough wall to eat his food. 

“Want some of mine?” Anakin offered.

“Or mine?” One of the Twi’leks offered, smiling at him. 

“No thank you,” Obi-Wan smiled back. “Though I appreciate the gesture.”

Obi-Wan stuck out amongst the rest of the slaves. He sat up straight, refusing to slouch, sitting criss-cross on the floor. His outfit branded him a Jedi, even without his lightsaber attached to his hip. His eyes were closed, plate simply waiting for him. Anakin watched as his brow furrowed, lips moving as if he were speaking but Anakin couldn’t hear the words coming out. 

“Wiseguy there looks like he doesn’t _want_ breakfast.” Frena’s devilish grin grew across her face as she marched over to where Obi-Wan was seated. “If he doesn’t want breakfast, then his little friend here doesn't get breakfast either!”

“Fren-” Desmir started.

“I know you’ve got a soft spot for the kid but I don’t,” Frena practically growled, grabbing Anakin’s plate from him and turning towards Desmir. “They’re property, not people. It’s time you learned that and stopped pretending.”

Frena shoved her face into Desmir’s, standing on her toes to reach his height. Her breathing was ragged, coming in quick, heavy breaths. She shoved Anakin’s remaining food into his chest, neither of them moving as the plate fell to the floor in a thud, crumbs of bread hitting the floor. 

“No need to punish him for my failings,” Obi-Wan finally said, moving to stand before them, handing Anakin his breakfast. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Frena slowly turned, crossing her arms, listening to Obi-Wan speak. Anakin could already feel the hairs on his arms starting to stand. He thought his heart might pound out of his chest, or his teeth break in half from how hard he was clenching his jaw. 

_Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it._ Anakin echoed through his thoughts as if Obi-Wan could actually hear him. _Just drop it. I’m used to it._

“Tell me Jedi, what should I have done?” Frena narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips as she concentrated on the brave man before her. 

“Punishment is for the violator. So punish me. But Anakin didn’t do anything to deserve-”

Anakin flinched as he heard the Frena’s staff strike Obi-Wan’s jaw. Obi-Wan staggered downward, barely catching himself on his hands before the staff pushed into his back roughly, making him lie flat. Frena pushed a boot to his head, forcing Obi-Wan to look in Anakin’s direction. Anakin’s nostrils flared, eyes filled with the deepest sense of concern for the man in front of him. 

“He doesn’t look hungry to me, now does he?”

Obi-Wan could only manage out a grunt from beneath her boot. 

“I’m not,” Anakin finally spoke, barely sounding convincing. “Thank you for teaching this freshy his place.”

Anakin watched as Frena studied him, slowly moving her boot away from Obi-Wan’s head. 

“Back to breakfast. Show’s over,” she finally said before sauntering out the door, Desmir close behind. 

Anakin’s panic came swelling back into him twice as quickly as it had left. His ears were ringing, the tips of them hot. Everyone knew the drill already: Zara grabbed a cold cloth from the fresher, the rest acted as if nothing had happened, but sat in front of the scene, creating a barrier in case they decided to come back and cause more harm. 

He quickly tried to move to Obi-Wan, his legs kicking up layers of dust as he tripped, instead crawling across the floor until he had finally reached Obi-Wan. There was already a small pool of blood collecting on the floor from where he had been hit. Anakin’s eyes frantically moved across every part of Obi-Wan’s face, trying to inspect how hard she had truly hit him. Reaching an arm out to help, he finally got Obi-Wan sitting up, his hand coming to carefully turn his cheek away from the shadows. 

“Anakin, I’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan tried to smile before wincing. 

“Next time, keep your head down. Breakfast usually isn’t this exciting,” Anakin said, using the damp cloth Zara had brought him to wipe the dirt off Obi-Wan’s face. 

“What they did was wrong though. I am perfectly capable of taking on my own-”

“I’m aware of what you _think_ you’re capable of.” Anakin turned sternly, locking eyes with him. “But capable isn’t what we’re about out here. It’s called survival, and I doubt you’ve had to do anything like that recently.”

“You might be surprised,” Obi-Wan said, a hint of sadness passing over his eyes before he leaned into Anakin’s palm, humming in appreciation as Anakin pressed the cold cloth to his jawline. 

Obi-Wan barely survived the rest of his first day. 

Obi-Wan barely survived the next few _hours_ of his first day. 

Anakin watched as Obi-Wan sat stoically in their transport, the only movement his body shifting with each turn they took. He was leaned over, elbows on his knees and hands clasped as if searching for a prayer. Guessing from the calluses on his hands the job they were going to might actually work out for him. Based on the rest of him though, it was only a 25 to 35 chance that Obi-Wan would actually know what to do with water vaporators. 

“Back by midday, understood?” Desmir said, unlocking their chains from around their arms. “Check all twenty.”

Anakin nodded curtly, moving to sling his pack over his shoulder. Obi-Wan followed suit, his movements awkward and clumsy and he tried to carry the heavy weight and balance on the dry sand. 

“You know,” Anakin called behind him. “You’re going to roast out here in all those layers.”

“What do you presume by that?” Obi-Wan asked, clumsily walking across the sand. 

“I mean, sure you got the colors right with the off white and brown, but you’ve got at least five layers on, and that thick fabric isn’t going to do you any favors.”

Anakin could already see the sweat beading on Obi-Wan’s forehead, the way his breathing quickened with each sinking step into the sand. 

“You know,” Obi-Wan said. “The Jedi robes… they’re presumably… inspired by the fashion of Tatooine.”

Anakin laughed, tossing his head back and letting his forehead bask in the sun. “ _Inspired_ by. Doesn’t mean literally. The boots especially don’t fit here.”

“And what’s wrong with the boots?” 

“They’ve got a heel. You look like a girl. They’re made of leather. Want me to go on?”

They walked in silence the rest of the way across the moisture farm, Obi-Wan a sweaty mess by the end of their hike. The twin suns beat hot on their backs, with only one small bottle of water to share between them. Obi-Wan was surprised the slavers expected them to come back alive at all after this. 

Once they finally reached the first vaporator, Anakin shucked his bag off, laying it against the pole. Obi-Wan soon caught up placing his bag next to Anakin’s, wandering away from Anakin to look around him. 

“No!” Anakin yelled, running across the sand and tackling Obi-Wan backward. “No. Don’t- don’t go any further.”

Obi-Wan stared up at Anakin in shock, mouth parted and eyes wide. Anakin slunk his head down into Obi-Wan’s shoulder before realizing exactly where he was, and how uncomfortable Obi-Wan was. He rolled onto his back, trying to catch his breath while Obi-Wan shook the sand out of his hair as if his spiky hair could capture any sand at all. 

“Do you have a death wish?” Anakin finally panted out. “First rule: don’t go any farther than the others around you.”

“What do you mean,” Obi-Wan, standing. He brushed the sand off from his tunic and rubbed his face, trying anything to get the granules off. 

“Your collar is programmed. Go any farther than the coordinates in that thing and you’ll see the back of your eyelids faster than you can blink.” 

“And how do you know this.” Obi-Wan loomed over Anakin, arms crossed stiffly. “Tall tales, slaver gossip?”

“Trial and error,” Anakin said sternly, pushing himself off the sand and stomping over to the first vaporator. 

Anakin could feel Obi-Wan’s looming presence over his shoulder as he watched him fix the first one. He half wondered if Obi-Wan actually understood what he was doing, or if this was going to be a lesson in wires and bolts. Usually, his owner would leave a few droids out in the field to help them read the codes, but it looked like they were flying solo today. 

“Can you hand me that socket wrench?” Anakin asked, pointing vaguely to their packs. 

Obi-Wan fumbled through the bag, pulling out anything that looked close to a wrench, handing it up to Anakin. After a few tries, he finally pulled out the right one, much to Anakin’s amusement. He finally had his answer: Obi-Wan knew nothing about fixing things. 

“So where are you from?” Anakin asked, after finishing their first fix.

“Well, technically I’m from a planet named Stewjon, but I came to the Jedi Temple at a very young age, so I consider myself to be from Coruscant”

“So all Jedi are from Coruscant,” Anakin fumbled through the name, pronouncing every syllable carefully. 

“Not all Jedi believe themselves from the temple, but I don’t remember anything before then, and my race is the same as those inhabiting Coruscant, so for me, it just fit.”

“But they stole you from your homeworld.”

“They didn’t steal me,” Obi-Wan said, his voice peeking up at the end. “My parents gave them permission to train me.”

“But do you even know your parents now?”

Anakin was toying with their next fix, already done checking six of them and working on the seventh.

“No, I don’t. But attachment is forbidden. Knowing my parents would mean growing an attachment to them,” after a tense moment of silence passed between them, he continued. ”That doesn’t mean you’re separated though. Many Jedi go back to their homeworlds for cultural rites of passage and on occasion to see their families. I personally never did.” 

Anakin wondered what his life would have been like if he knew his mother any more or any less. If he could still remember the feeling of his mother’s hair or the way she sang. His memory was already fading with every passing year.

“But knowing your parents, it’s… it’s like knowing yourself,” Anakin mumbled out, fixing a few wires. “How could you ever…”

“I know who I am through the Force. Through my youngling tribe. My friends. My masters, former masters now I suppose. And all of my training.”

The air hung heavy between them, and not just because of the dry air suffocating them both. A silent question loomed on Anakin’s tongue, too afraid to speak it into existence. Who was he to ask anyway, he thought. Nothing more than a slave on a desert planet. Not one to talk about identity, family. Practically dead if the chains weren’t keeping him alive. 

“Come on,” Anakin said, a half-smile darting across his face. “Let’s hurry and finish these last few.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> Just a brief update: I thought a lot about my tags and potentially what I should tag now rather than later. Please look at the few additional tags I have added. They do not relate to this chapter, but they do end up in this story eventually and I would hate for someone to get invested and then feel that they cannot complete the story due to the themes that will be coming up. I know they are themes that are not for the faint of heart. Other than those, additional tags will come as I update the chapters so that it's not a ton of spoilers up there. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: none. 
> 
> As always thank you to my two beautiful betas who read this for me. Fingers crossed we caught all the typos.

Anakin could tell Obi-Wan needed space. They hardly talked on their transport home, and the day seemed to wear heavy on him. First days were always the most difficult, especially for freshys that weren’t used to the beating suns on their backs. Anakin’s skin had gotten used to the climate. Tanned from the outdoors, or perhaps the lack of a shower, but the skin on knuckles and joints had cracked from the dry air. He rarely got the opportunity to look at himself in the mirror, but of the few times he’d seen his reflection it was the blue eyes that always shocked him the most. A color he rarely saw, and the universe decided it was his to keep permanently. 

While his skin was used to everything, he could easily tell Obi-Wan’s was suffering. He could see the sunburn setting deep on his face: a shade of red he was almost concerned about. It was most likely going to blister, peel, and who knows what else before returning to normal. His feet had to hurt in those shoes. 

Sometimes Anakin’s kindness was too much. He knew he should have just ignored it. Not his problem. But his mother’s voice would always tick at the back of his mind, reminding him that even strangers are still people. 

“Zara,” Anakin whispered, coming to sit next to her. His legs protested the movement, groaning from sitting down after a day of trekking across the sand. “I need your help.”

“Not again Anakin,” she said around a mouthful of food. “You know what happened last time.”

“Come on. You love me enough to help,” Anakin batted his eyelashes, hoping in the five years he’d known Zara that maybe this time it would work. 

“No.”

“Fine. Two dinners. One for each thing I need. One meal now, the second when you get the items.”

“And what would they be,” Zara smiled, eyeing Anakin’s food already. 

“A new pair of shoes. I’d guess my size. And a head wrap.”

“Three.”

“No way,” Anakin yelled a bit too loudly, causing some heads to turn. “Two. There’s only two things on my list.”

“You said shoes. Plural. One portion for each foot.”

Anakin was the one who played this game, not Zara. Clearly someone had learned.

“Fine. They’re for the freshy. He didn’t do well out with me so they’ll probably take him to the market. Just give them to him there once you’ve got it.”

“Might be a bit. You know clothes are the hardest to smuggle.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure they’ll have him in the market longer than just a day. I’m just worried about the day they send him back out with me.”

He passed over the rest of his dinner discreetly, getting up to give Desmir his empty plate and settle down for the night. He watched as Obi-Wan finished his food, still unsure as to where he fit in with everything. 

Obi-Wan tugged at his tunics just a little too much. Sat up a little too straight. Brushed the dirt off his pants just a little too frequently. And ate his food just a little too slowly. Anakin wondered how long he would last, and then again hoped he would never break. 

* * *

The morning came far too quickly, Anakin grinned as he noticed Obi-Wan had moved closer to everyone, using the top layer of his tunics as a pillow. He startled awake to Frena's staff banging against the door again. Panicked, he grabbed his tunic, quickly throwing it back over his shoulders amongst the three other layers he already sported, adjusting the belt on his waist, looking around the room as if we were going to judge him. 

“Good morning,” Anakin smirked, walking past Obi-Wan to the breakfast line, hearing his frantic footsteps as he hurried to catch up.

“You know,” Obi-Wan started, grabbing a plate and yawning. “You snore.”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do!” The other slaves chimed in as they settled into their breakfast. 

“Why have none of you told me?!” Anakin laughed, half shocked and half hurt.

“Well,” Alahsay said, sauntering past him. “We were going to keep it a secret, but freshy here decided to ruin all of the fun.”

“Even in your sleep you can’t be quiet!” Anakin heard jeered from behind him. 

“Enough!” Frena yelled. “Just shut-up and eat your breakfast."

Anakin mocked her facial expression, earning him a smattering of muffled giggles.

Freshys weren’t normally as vocal as it seemed Obi-Wan was willing to be. It was difficult bringing in someone new to the makeshift family Anakin had created here. A family of nine, ten all-together with Obi-Wan, but it was enough. Someone to rely on when necessary. Someone to watch your back. And someone to keep you humble if the guards didn’t do a good enough job at it.

People had come and gone over the years, some that he still missed, and others he was glad to watch as they were dragged out of the room. Even now, when it came down to it, there were a few he’d rather see gone. But Zara and Alahsay, they practically raised him. A Twil’ek and Torguta raising a human. Not easy, but here nothing was easy. 

“Alright, assignments for the day,” Desmir called out. 

“Pretty boy here,” Frena mocked, crouching down and tracing Obi-Wan’s jaw. “Gets to go to town with the girls. One of our clients is in need of a bar back at the cantina. Zara, Alahsay, market again. Anakin, Master has some droids for you. The rest of you filth who I care less to learn the names of, I’ll tell you your assignments in the transport.”

_Good luck_ Anakin mouthed to Obi-Wan hoping he would understand. He waited outside the door with Desmir, tugging on his collar a bit as it had shifted in his sleep. A small shock hit his neck and that was it, not worth getting electrocuted for a tiny bit of comfort. 

“While we’re waiting for the Jawas to drop the droids, I think the transport needs fixing,” Desmir said after the others had disappeared towards the smattering of buildings on the horizon that was Mos Espa. 

So long as Desmir was the only one around, Anakin was free to roam the yard, if you could call sand a yard. He spent some time inspecting the outside of their "hut-turned-slave-quarters," making sure there weren’t large cracks in the dome that could cause problems later on. The ability to stretch his feet without worrying too much about getting the work done was the best. As if he could finally breathe, even under the watchful eye of a guard and heavy collar set high upon his shoulders. 

As Anakin was digging into the engine of their spare transport, the Jawas arrived, causing an uproar as usual. He was short with them, taking the four droids that needed fixing and pushing them away, observant of Desmir behind him. When they kept trying to bait Anakin, Desmir finally stepped up, electro-whip in hand. He didn’t know Jawaese, but his body language was enough to send them scurrying without words. 

Desmir looked to Anakin once they had left, a moment of understanding passing between them before being warned that he’d be punished if the transport and droids weren’t done before Frena came back. 

“Hey little guys,” Anakin smiled at each droid as he came to fix them. “Looks like you’ve got something strange going on.”

Each droid had their own story to share with Anakin: an adventure they had gone on to Ancorhead or Mos Eisley. The time their owners had done something stupid at the dinner table and their wives had gotten upset. Their best friends from home. Each story was colored with a pang of guilt, as Anakin knew none of them would be going back to the owners they loved so much. 

He couldn’t understand how you could just abandon a droid. They felt the same way we did. Sure, they’re a bunch of wires, metal, and bolts, but that didn’t make them any less sentient beings. 

They wouldn’t be loved by his Master. 

The only reason droids were brought around now was because of Frena. She had learned early on that Anakin was good with wires. Wanted to increase her credits, even at the disposal of others. So one day Anakin was meeting broken droids who had just been bought, only to learn they were sold mere days later to who knows who for what knows what. Master makes more credits, Frena's pay cut gets bigger.

“Alright guys,” Anakin smiled, patting each one’s head. “You’re fixed. R4, don’t go tripping over the stairs anymore. Fly a little higher next time. And you K0, just be more careful. Stop getting your circuits clogged with sand. A little self-care will get you a long way.”

Anakin clung their memories and stories, knowing that soon these droids might not have them anymore. Memory wipes were all too common with new owners. 

Working on the transport always let Anakin empty his mind. The digging for an answer in the parts, listening closely for a tick, squeal, or even just the plain smell of smoke was therapy out here. Vaporator’s weren’t the same, even if it was the same type of tangled wires he could dig his hand into. Sinking his energy into a engine was far more rewarding: a puzzle that was constantly changing. 

He had wondered what else he might have been good at besides fixing things. Could he cook as well as his mother described the food from the vendors? Would he be a good fighter? A bounty hunter? A senator? 

_A Jedi?_

In reality, a small hut off-world sounded best, like the bedtime stories he had been told. Somewhere with forests, tall trees he could get lost underneath. So much greenery he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Digging his nails into the dirt below him just to know how cool and damp it could feel against his skin. Watching the rain trickle down from the leaves. Setting his own fire and making his own food. No more portions. No more guards. No more jobs. 

_All nothing but dreams and high hopes._

Anakin finished his work for the day, returning the tools he used to Desmir, watching as he locked them in the metal box hung in the doorframe of the hutt. With no transport on the horizon, he was handed a broom, asked to sweep the floors until everyone came back. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the sun inside, even it if meant dealing with the oppressive indoor heat. 

* * *

The front door swooshed open, calling Anakin’s attention to everyone coming back. While the girls seemed happy, and the few men seemed in fairly good spirits, Obi-Wan was practically fuming at the ears, trying to keep his composure but failing miserably. 

Anakin did _not_ pick up on his temper, far too excited to hear how the markets went with someone he should not be so attached to already. 

“Hey how did it-”

“How can you people _allow_ that behavior?! That-” Obi-Wan balled his fists at his sides, visibly clenching his jaw. “The absolute indecency and misbehavior I saw today was worse than the lower levels of Coruscant and that’s already bad by itself.”

“I’m taking it didn’t go well,” Anakin frowned.

“Go well? Anakin do you know what happens out there?! The bounty hunters? The fighting? The- the absolute-”

“Pretty boy!” Frena interrupted. “So how was your first day?”

“He said it went well,” Anakin answered for him, stepping in front of Obi-Wan. “It was a good day.”

“I didn’t ask you Anakin.” Frena’s glare bore holes in his skull, her face mere inches away from his. “I asked your _friend_ over there.”

“He’s just-”

“It was a good day,” Obi-Wan finally interrupted, pushing Anakin behind him. He could practically feel Anakin’s heart hammering out of his chest. “I enjoyed my work at the cantina.”

“Oh did you now? So you’d enjoy going back tomorrow? And the next day? The rest of your life?”

“I suppose I have no _choice_ in the matter,” Obi-Wan deadpanned.

“Is that back-talk I hear?” Frena tsk-ed at him, reaching for the whip on her belt. “Now now, I don’t want to mess up that beautiful face any more than I have.”

“He didn’t mean it, Frena,” Anakin found himself saying before he could think; rage-filled fear boiling under his skin. He knew Frena might have been heartless, but even she knew breaking a freshy was a game of give and take. 

“No dinner. No breakfast,” she finally said after seconds that felt like hours. “The stomach pains will be punishment enough.”

Everyone in the room watched as Frena turned, walking out the doors again before calling back. “Next time, your little _acquaintance_ there, and the rest of you, won’t be able to save him. It’ll be whips, and I’ll be happy to deliver.”

The collective breath everyone had been holding finally released as the door shut, Anakin relaxing his shoulders, his breathing slowing back down to a normal pace.

“I can handle my own punishment.” Obi-Wan was still standing straight as a board, his posture rigid and hands balled at his side. He refused to look at Anakin. “I do something out of line, I take it. There’s no reason for you to stand up for me.”

“And what about breakfast yesterday? That seemed a whole lot like you acting out and _you_ getting punished!” Anakin spat. “Fairness is not something that slavers are known for having!”

How could the man in front of him simply not understand: family stands up for family. Those rules might not exist outside these walls, but they sure as Force existed so long as they were together.

“I don’t need you to look out for me!”

Obi-Wan whipped around to see Anakin staring straight at him, bottom lip quivering, nostrils flared. Anakin’s brain was flipping through a million thoughts. How his mother had made him too nice. How this man would turn out like the rest. How no matter how hard he tried to keep people’s happiness intact it wouldn’t work. And mostly, how badly he just wanted to punch Obi-Wan.

“Anakin, I’m-” Obi-Wan searched for his words.

“Dinner,” Desmir called as he entered again. 

* * *

No one spoke at dinner. Obi-Wan sat by himself in the corner, legs crossed and arms laid across his lap the same way he had done before. Anakin watched him intently for the next few hours, wondering if he should say something or not. He wasn’t in the wrong. Or was he? 

“It’s impolite to stare Ani,” Alahsay smiled across from him. “Your bad blood will remain unless one of you says something. I think he’s calmed by now. Your mother would-”

"I know: _never go to bed angry._ "

Alahsay smiled at him, her presence still calming after seven years of it all. It was as if she emanated calmness, and no one could take it from her. 

He nodded at her, slowly making his way across the room to Obi-Wan, kneeling in front of him. Obi-Wan didn’t seem to move, his breaths long and steady. The scrape along his jawline was scabbed, the cut along his eyebrow almost fully healed. His sunburn had settled, most likely relieved from being inside all day. He would have thought the man asleep if he hadn’t spoken. 

“I apologize for what I did earlier,” Obi-Wan said, his voice a soothing presence under the tension that was only starting to unwind. 

“It was out of line for me to defend you. I barely know you after all.”

“Knowing or not knowing someone doesn’t keep you from doing what is right,” Obi-Wan smiled faintly at him. “Justice is blind after all.”

“Blind is right. Blind to giving _proper_ justice.” Anakin laid back against the floor, his head next to where Obi-Wan’s legs were crossed, staring up at him.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan said after a while, moving from his position to lay next to the other on the floor.

“Yes?”

“How did you get here?”

No one really asks how slaves get to where they’re at. It’s assumed for most that they were sold; maybe captured at a young age. For anyone who had been in the chains long enough, it was almost considered rude. 

“I was born here.”

“What do you mean by that?” Obi-Wan turned to face him, watching the dim light cast shadows across Anakin’s face.

“My mom, Shmi, she was a slave. She got pregnant and had me. When a child is born from a slave, they’re a slave from day one.”

“But child slavery is illegal.”

“Obi-Wan, _I’m_ technically still a child. I’m not 18 for a few more moons. I mean in my mind it’s soon enough that they should just give me my 'adult card,' but…”

“Where is your mother now?” Obi-Wan asked after a while.

“Don’t really know. We were separated when I was, what, ten? I worked at a junk store with a Toydarian junker named Watto. He gambled and made a bet too big. So he made a deal with my, well our, Master to erase his debt in exchange for my mother and I. I’m the only slave that’s been around here as long as I’ve been. They sold my mother when I was ten, same year they brought in Alahsay”

“I’m sorry the Republic hasn’t done more,” Obi-Wan said, a hint of sadness at the edge of his voice. “It’s not as if we don’t know about it either. I suppose as a Padawan I didn’t understand the full capacity of it.”

“Wait. Padawan? I thought you were a Jedi Knight? You don’t have the braid.” Anakin rolled onto his side, moving to put some space between them. “You lied?”

“No. No I just never clarified. I didn’t think people knew the distinction.”

“My mother told me stories of the peacekeeping Jedi as a child. I know more than you think, though I’m not sure I believe it all anymore... So, wait how old are you? I thought Jedi Knights were like nineteen?”

“Well, you’d be close with my age. I’m twenty standard years. Barely. But Jedi knights, even the youngest, are a few years older than me.”

“How did _you_ even get here? Jedi are supposed to be the most powerful warriors in the galaxy.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes seeming to take him back to a time far before his slavery, before Anakin had ever known him. A sad serenity that Anakin couldn’t begin to understand.

“As my old Master would have put it, it was the will of the Force. We were on a mission on Naboo-”

“Lights out!” Desmir called out into the room. “You all know the drill. If we hear you outside these doors, it’s twenty whips in the morning.”

“A story for another time,” Obi-Wan smiled, getting up to take off the top layer of his tunics. 

“You know you can just join the pile? I know it’s weird but it does help with the cold and the floor,” Anakin whispered.

“Thank you. Just, not yet.”

“Goodnight Obi-Wan."

“Goodnight Anakin.”

Faintly Anakin could hear Frena and Desmir arguing from the other side of the door. Sure, it wasn’t uncommon, but he could have sworn he heard his name muttered on a few occasions. And Desmir disagreeing with whatever plan Frena had created this time around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I'll try to keep a once a week update schedule but no promises as I do work a full time 9-5 job.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter is more violent than previous chapters. If violence/punishment is triggering to you please skip from "Something Anakin should learn to mimic" until "He sat alone in the corner through dinner." That should be skipping the most triggering parts. 
> 
> See end notes for a summary if you feel the need to skip that section. I don't believe there's anything else so enjoy!

The weeks passed by quickly; Obi-Wan continued to go into the market with the girls and work at the cantina while Anakin stayed back. On occasion, Desmir would have company, speaking with someone who looked less like a friend and more an acquaintance. Business most likely. There had been rumors that someone was watching the girls more closely at the market. The betting began as to who was getting sold. Anakin hated to think about it, almost broke down realizing the truth of losing another “mother” again, but Alahsay had been here for too long, and statistically, it was time she was sold. 

It hit him in the chest, as if Frena had shoved her staff straight through him when he woke at night. He had always laid on Alahsay, his head tucked into the curve of her shoulder. It was a nightmare when his mother was taken: truly a waking nightmare. 

He’d had more dreams of it recently with the dark seeds planted that Alahsay would be gone. He remembered the way Desmir and Frena had come in the night, the telltale sound of the door echoing off the vacant walls, as if for once it was louder than everything else in this world. Anakin and his mother had been there less than a year, not even adjusted to their new owner. Anakin not even a month over ten. He remembered the way he had flinched at Desmir’s yell. The way Alahsay had woken first; gotten him off his mother’s lap in a second. The way he screamed, kicked, and even headbutted Alahsay trying to get away. He’d only known her a few months at that point, and she was easy to escape from. Then Desmir’s rough hands as he held Anakin’s arms back, trying to tell him to calm down, get himself together, before getting his staff wrapped around Anakin’s midsection, holding him flush to his chest. 

How serene his mother’s face looked back at him as the door closed and took her from him forever. 

Frequently in the night he’d wake sweating, nervous, crying. After a long day’s work, no one woke to other’s nightmares. They came frequently to everyone, and the pile was meant to be a form of reassurance. Of knowing that amidst the horrors you weren’t alone. 

But after Alahsay would be sold, after she would be dragged out to the sound of Anakin’s kicking and screaming again, it wouldn’t matter who was left over. It wouldn’t even matter if Zara remained.

He would lose a mother again, and with him everything he held true. 

One particular night he sat up, thankful that for once no one decided to sleep on his legs, and saw Obi-Wan staring straight back at him. Anakin startled a bit at the set of eyes before realizing whose they were. Obi-Wan’s head was tilted to the side just a bit as he propped himself up on his elbows, curiously watching. 

In the darkness of the quarters, you can’t make out much more than general shapes, forms. But he could see the glimmer of his eye, and knew that he had woken Obi-Wan due to his own nightmare. Perhaps the first time, or the first Anakin had noticed. 

Anakin moved away from the pile, careful not to wake Alahsay as he got up. Carefully he stepped over the few people in his way until he reached Obi-Wan, always at the edge of the pile, never wanting to officially join the rest of them. He had come closer, but something seemed to always stop him. 

“Can’t sleep?” Anakin said quietly, coming to lay on the cold floor directly next to Obi-Wan.

“I miss them,” he said, looking down at where Anakin lay. “We are always told to control our emotions. Refrain from forming attachments. Do what is necessary for the good of the mission. Only abandon the mission when it’s for the betterment of others… I wasn’t trained on what to do when the mission abandoned me.”

Anakin didn’t know what to say. The rules and the Jedi didn’t make much sense to him, almost entirely incomprehensible. It was like trying to look up into the night sky and decipher constellations on a planet that wasn’t Tattoine. Sure, they were all the same stars, but plotted into a new form it was impossible to see the same thing. Anakin had the Slave Code, which honestly changed from master to master, and Obi-Wan had his Jedi Code. How much overlap they had, Anakin had yet to know. 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin broke their silence, watching the rise and fall of Obi-Wan’s chest next to him as they lay, the older man finally laying to stare at the ceiling with him. “What is it that you mumble under your breath when you’re sitting?”

“It’s called meditation Anakin.” He thought he could see the faintest of smirks run across his face. “And I recite my Code. Normally I wouldn’t, but out here it’s soothing. Something to grip on to.”

“What is it?”

“ _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the force.”_

“You had me until the death part.”

“Without understanding the Force it’s... It’s difficult to describe. Imagine we are _all_ made from the Force, but only some of us can commune with it. Like… like language. You speak Huttese, correct?”

“Yeah, I can speak a lot of the languages here.”

“So, the Force is like language. We all have the ability to communicate in some form. But the mode of communication: the language that we choose, that’s the difference. The same way you speak Huttese and I can’t, is the same way some people can commune with the Force and others are unable to.”

“Sure, but what does that have to do with death?”

“See, we _all_ die. Therefore, we all return to the Force. We know this to be true because some of the Masters can feel what we call their presence in the Force. I’ve never been able to feel or see those whom I’ve lost in the Force, but I hoped with more training-”

“You’ll get there one day, I’m sure of it.” 

Anakin relaxed into the warmth of Obi-Wan next to him, the back of their hands touching and releasing a knot that he hadn’t known was wrapped in his chest the entire time. As if he could relax his shoulders a tiny bit more, smile a bit wider, breath a bit fuller. And with it brought a peace that took both of their nightmares away, if only for the night. 

* * *

Serenity only lasts so long though. 

The telltale sign of morning came banging on the metal door again. Sometime in the night, Anakin had rolled over to lay on Obi-Wan's shoulder, unaware of who he was nuzzling his face into until it was too late, the embarrassment coloring his cheeks a bright shade of pink. 

"I'm- I didn't- I-"

“Anakin it's fine. You've slept in a pile of people for years. It's normal."

"But it's not-"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan half yawned, half laughed. "It's fine. Go eat. You need your nutrition."

After breakfast everyone was off to work again. Obi-Wan had recently been forced to eat outside in the sun, a punishment for wanting to talk to them all too much in the mornings. Anakin was less of a morning person. Rather, he was content with listening to others stories and the happy dreams they would occasionally have. A small escape that was allowed so long as they kept it down, which Obi-Wan still hadn’t grown accustomed to. Where Obi-Wan came from, Coruscant, there must have been more space to talk, and less echoes. 

The day went quickly, Obi-Wan going on his usual shift to the cantina, Zara sneaking him a look over her shoulder as they were taken out to the transports again. 

Anakin always waited in anticipation for Obi-Wan to come back. He wanted to hear the stories about town and its inhabitants. Ever since he was sold he hadn’t been allowed to go back. He missed the smell of the food from stalls that wafted in while he worked for Watto as a child. They were never allowed to buy it, but he could imagine the way the spices danced across his tongue. Mostly he missed the few friends he had made, the pod races he’d hear about, the bustle of the city as it worked through the hours of sunlight the twin suns gave. And while it worked through the misery that the twin suns allowed. 

The second Obi-Wan came through the doors Anakin was rushing to him, excited to see a light blue head scarf wrapped around his face and new shoes adorning his feet. Anakin would be out dinner for the next two days, but that was entirely worth the joy he felt in the center of his chest. 

“Your gifts!” Anakin smiled, buzzing with excitement. “They look wonderful. I wasn’t expecting-”

“Anakin-”

“A blue scarf but it looks great on you. I wonder where Zara got it from. And the shoes,”

“Anakin-”

“I hope we’re the same size. I told Zara to get you the same as me, but even then they’re a little adjustable. Everything has to last forever up here. But the scarf, it’s the most beautiful shade of light blue. We hardly ever get colorful things here.”

Anakin moved to adjust the scarf on his head, only to get his hand batted away, finally looking up to Obi-Wan’s eyes. Worry had settled into them, the smile lines of his face more prominent, arcing downward into his frightened posture. He had been so excited he forgot to ask about his day.

“Anakin, listen-”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to be as excited-”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan finally yelled, grabbing his arms to look at him. “Anakin what did you do?”

“I don’t understand... I-”

“Why did you get me these? Why would you put Zara in that situation? I don’t - I didn’t want any of this, I was perfectly-”

“What happened to Zara?”

Anakin could feel the dread seeping down his skin: the way it melted into crevices of himself he didn’t even know existed. He was looking past Obi-Wan, waiting for the door to open and show him whatever fate he had brought upon Zara. Faintly, he knew he was being talked to, being shaken as if to listen better, but nothing was going to tear his gaze from that door. Not until he could see the sly face of the Twi'lek that had become like a sister to him. Not until Zara walked through that door, punched him in the shoulder, and reminded him of the two portions owed to her. 

“Anakin, please look at me,” he finally heard Obi-Wan say, turning to look at the set of worried blue eyes in front of him. “ _Never. Again_.”

Frena slid the door open after that, yelling for both men to come outside for a show. Anakin could barely move his feet, could barely imagine what Frena had in store. He glanced at Obi-Wan and saw the same dread echoed on his features, just better concealed. Over the weeks he had gotten used to the subtlety of emotion on the man's face: something the battlefield must have taught him. Something Anakin should learn to mimic. 

“Anakin, my love,” Frena cooed. “And pretty boy, Kenobi, I think it was?”

“Frena, stop this-” Obi-Wan started, standing straight and tall, sinking his feet into the sand a tiny bit more.

“Oh, will you fess up then? Or do I have to hurt her more?”

Anakin finally peered around Frena to see the semi-circle of his slave family surrounding Zara who was coughing blood into the sand. Her face was an absolute mess, cuts and bruises forming everywhere. He didn’t even want to know the state of her back: the scars that would form there.

“Zara!” Anakin yelled, running across the sand towards her until a large pair of hands grabbed his waist, pulling him backwards.

“You help her, she gets hurt more,” he heard Desmir say into his ear as he desperately tried to get away. “Frena will kill her if you try.”

“Let me go!” Anakin yelled, elbowing Desmir in the ribs, allowing himself only a small bit of room to try and wiggle away. 

“Anakin she will kill her!” Desmir growled into his ear again. “I’m trying to help!”

“What do you care,” he bit, starting to tire from struggling in the sand, getting granules in his clothing and rubbing harshly against his skin.

“She doesn’t have to go through this anymore,” Frena smirked at Obi-Wan, watching Anakin struggle. “Just tell me whose fault it was.”

“It was mine,” Zara coughed out. “I stole them on my own accord.”

Desmir covered Anakin’s mouth, stifling his yells from the hot, arid air. 

“I know it wasn’t you Zara,” Frena said. “You steal for reward. For food. I’ve known that all this time. But you stole from someone Master values, and he’s not happy about it at all.”

Anakin heard the familiar sound of the electro whip and Zara crying out. He could practically feel the static from it, the way that it buzzed through the air. The sand shifted marginally next to him, Obi-Wan sinking to his feet watching the scene unfold before him. Anakin turned his head to look, watching him pull the blue head scarf off himself. 

“Oh no no no,” Frena walked back over to him, wrapping the scarf back around his head. “We wouldn’t want such beauty to go to waste now would we?”

“It was my fault,” Obi-Wan choked out, pained as Anakin had ever heard him. “I asked for something to help. My feet hurt. I was sunburnt.”

Anakin bit down hard on Desmir’s hand, kicking him in the shin to finally get away. “It was my fault!” He yelled, standing before everyone. “I asked Zara to get them. I traded my dinner for something to help him. He was going to get sun poisoning or, or I don’t know but you can’t expect… Just stop Frena.”

“Oh dearest,” she smirked, grabbing Anakin’s jaw and brushing her thumb over his lip. “I knew it was you. I just wanted to hear that come out of your pretty mouth.”

“Frena,” Desmir warned.

“I know. Strict orders.” She walked over to where Obi-Wan sat in the sand, pushing the scarf off his head to his shoulders and yanking him up by his hair. “Therefore, Anakin, you can lead all the others inside while this one takes the brunt of what I wish I could do to you.”

“Just do it to me!” Anakin cried, rushing over to Obi-Wan. “Stop taking it out on him, just do it to me! You’re always punishing everyone else just punish me for once!”

“Anakin, it’s ok,” Obi-Wan said, defeated for the first time in the month he had been here. “It’s ok.”

“Frena why can’t you just- why are you so weak that you couldn’t even think about hurting me?!” he snapped, putting himself mere inches from Frena’s face. “Too scared to see a young boy cry? You took my mother from me; watched me scream, kick, claw at the door that day. You beat me with your staff to give me this scar. Almost took my eye out with it. What makes a difference now?”

“Don’t test me boy,” Frena’s lip curled upward, patience waning. “I’ve got strict orders from your Master, and I’m not about to gamble my credits for the likes of you.”

“Everyone inside,” Desmir called, yanking Anakin by his arm through the doors. “Zara, transport.”

Anakin listened to Obi-Wan’s wails through their door for the next half hour. He flinched at every muffled grunt, the sound of each crack. He could practically feel it on his skin, the lines that would go across and the way it would sting against everything. Over the years Frena had gotten more erratic, hungry to cause more pain to whoever she could. Yet every punishment that came his way was rarely physical. 

Right now, he would have given anything to take Obi-Wan’s place. Zara's place.

It was his fault after all. 

He sat alone in the corner through dinner, tears tracking down his face. He watched as they dripped down the tip of his nose onto the sand below him. Watched as they made a puddle, only to be dried up within lone seconds. Imagined that it was how rain felt against his skin, how getting off this wretched planet might give him hope. How he could one day live without the fear of his own kindness getting everyone in trouble. 

That maybe he _could_ be kind, and others wouldn’t fear him. 

Anakin’s heart hammered against his ribcage once he saw Obi-Wan walk back into their quarters. He was defeated, hurt, bloody. His head hung low, shoulders slumped, and the remnants of dried tears crusting against the corners of his eyes. Frena had the decency to let him put his layers back on, but it was already ruined. Stains so deep there would be no way Anakin could wash it all out on laundry day. What kicked Anakin in the stomach the most, what made him wish this man had never met him, was the way he loosely held the blue headscarf in his hand. The way it billowed in the wind with every agonizing step he took. 

Faintly, he heard Frena tell Desmir that she would be going to the market for the night. Zara would be sold to whoever wanted her. 

And everything seemed to be--no-- _was_ Anakin’s fault. 

He ran to the fresher quickly to grab their lone cloth, wanting to clean Obi-Wan’s wounds as best as he could. 

“I’m so sorry,” Anakin cried as Obi-Wan silently slunk to the floor in front of him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, resting his head on Anakin’s shoulder. 

It became a mantra, a million forms of _I’m sorry_ coming from Anakin: either verbally or from the way he dabbed at Obi-Wan’s shoulders. He had never seen so many freckles on a man before though he wished he had discovered them in a different context. He trailed his fingers soothingly over Obi-Wan’s arms, tracing circles into his skin as he tried cleaning him up, eventually turning him to see the damage across his back. There wasn’t much he could do with a dry cloth, but he was too terrified to try anything more. The water wasn’t always the best, and infection was always the biggest worry after one of these. 

“Here,” Anakin heard from over his shoulder. “It’ll help.”

He turned to see Desmir looming over him, a small bottle of bacta outstretched for Anakin to take. 

“What’s the catch?” Anakin glared at him. 

“None. I don’t agree with Frena’s actions today, and she’s not here to yell at me. I might be here to keep you all in line, but that doesn’t mean I can disregard my own morals the way Frena does.”

Anakin hesitantly took the bottle from him, not wanting to turn his back until he heard the click of the door behind Desmir and the rattle of everyone eating their food again. 

“He needs to eat. You _both_ need to eat,” Alahsay came over afterwards, handing her dinner plate to Obi-Wan, and a second to Anakin. “Please, Anakin.”

“I need to patch him up first,” Anakin felt the pinpricks of tears forming again as he smiled at her, the bacta bottle feeling warm against his palm.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, turning to take the plate from her. “I appreciate the gesture.”

“We wondered if you would ever accept our sharing of food,” Alahsay smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Make sure Anakin eats if you can. Otherwise, rest up. It’ll be a much better night without Frena around.”

Anakin spread the bacta across Obi-Wan’s wounds, feeling the man relax a bit into the warm, strangely slimy substance. While Anakin knew what it was, he had never used it before. The feeling of it between his fingers was unnatural, gross even. He was thankful it was odorless or else he might have gagged from the texture of it. While applying it he must have made a noise, hearing Obi-Wan chuckle a bit before wincing, his back suddenly tense. 

“If it helps, it feels wonderful against the wounds,” Obi-Wan said. “I know it’s strange at first.”

“Strange is true.”

“The wounds will heal much faster now. Perhaps within only a few days.”

“Obi-Wan, I’m-” Anakin started as Obi-Wan put one of his tunic layers back on. Anakin already missed the freckles that scattered across his skin.

“Mediate with me?” Obi-Wan offered, wincing a bit as he turned to Anakin and tried sitting as straight as he could.

“Wh- what?” Anakin asked, a bit perplexed at the sudden shift. “Meditate?”

“Growing up it was a way to help compartmentalize emotions. When I could feel the Force I’d cast out my negative emotions into it to find peace. Now, well, with this,” he gestured to the collar, “I just do it to reflect. And now, today, I can do it to keep me sane.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just, sit the way I am.” Obi-Wan reached out to adjust Anakin’s position on the floor. “Cross your legs. Good. No, sit up straight. Don’t slouch like that. And breathe. . . deeply."

Anakin tried his best to figure out what he was meant to do. Sitting with his eyes closed didn't really feel like it was doing much of anything besides making him sleepy, his eyes stinging from his sobs.

"Now," Obi-Wan said, startling him a bit. "Think about the day, the last week. Think about how events made you feel and _why_ they made you feel that way."

He thought of the nightmares first, the way they woke him in a cold sweat. How it felt as if he was sitting under a sword that was ready to kill him at any second, yet all he woke to were the calming presences of his family. 

_I can't lose another mother_. 

But then Zara. He knew he'd never see her again. Wondered how he would ever be able to live without both a mother and a sister. How he could go forward knowing he too would be sold one day to people he wouldn't know, fighting for his place yet again.

But those were emotions he could breathe through. Could comprehend within himself and imagine himself working through, passing it into the void of space and leaving room in his heart for happier things. The what and why he was continuously stuck on was something he never wanted to think about. 

_Desmir_.

The man had been kinder to him in the past year. It wasn't all at once but it had become noticeable. Whereas he might have only given Anakin a day out of every month to relax outside, now it was almost weekly. 

He could tell something was happening. A moral dilemma sat deep inside Desmir, questioning the boundaries he had established years ago. The bacta was the first point a guard had shown kindness, and Anakin couldn't believe it would go unnoticed by the others. 

The _why_ is puzzling. Guards aren't supposed to have morals that jeopardize their pay at the end of the day. So what was it now? What could have tipped the scales so far?

Anakin shifted on the floor, trying to get rid of the uncomfortableness that had settled into his legs. The stiffness of his joints. His knees grazed Obi-Wan's, distracting him from whatever trance he had originally found himself in. 

He could feel the warmth radiating from Obi-Wan, even under the two layers of fabric that separated them. It felt like the sunrise, the way the golden light would dash across tanned skin, but the danger in being within it for too long. The sun could warm a cold heart, but it could burn it just as quickly. He relished in the feeling of it though: a small spark igniting in the hollows of himself. He would stomp it out later in the desert heat, remind himself that getting attached, Jedi or slave, was a recipe for disaster. 

_He said he couldn't form attachments. That means you too_ , Anakin thought. _And after today, you haven’t earned forgiveness._

"Lights out," Anakin heard Desmir call, walking over to him, palm extended out. "Bacta."

"Thank you," Anakin said, hesitantly, slowly relinquishing the half-used bottle back to him. 

"And you," he flicked his gaze to Obi-Wan. "Tomorrow's a laundry day. Keep one of your layers _on_. Preferably the bloodiest one. It's no good. If Frena finds out about this, the beating I get won't be even a _fraction_ of the beating you'll get."

As Desmir left, Anakin started to get up, watching as Alahsay waited for him to join the pile. He saw the glimmer in her eye, the nudge to do something different. 

To choose for himself. 

And so he crawled onto the ground, arms behind his head, looking down his nose at Obi-Wan next to him. 

“Obi-Wan, I’m really sorry.”

“Just… don’t put people in harm’s way for me anymore.”

“I didn’t-”

“I know you didn’t. Zara is a crafty thief. But the bounty hunter watching us recently, he’s cunning.”

“I really didn’t mean to get anyone hurt.”

“We never do. I didn’t mean to get my master hurt either. Master Qui-Gon, he… I didn’t...” He trailed off in his story, breath caught in his throat, and Anakin knew to leave it alone. There was enough pain today, he didn’t need to add more to it. 

"Do you want me to stay?” Anakin finally asked the blackness before them.

"Yes. I think that would be nice." Obi-Wan yawned, crossing his arms underneath his head and closing his eyes, laying on his stomach. Anakin could have sworn he leaned slightly closer to his side in the darkness. 

“But Anakin,” Obi-Wan started, voice thick with exhaustion. “Please, never put another in the line of danger for me again.”

“I promise.” _And I promise to never let Frena hurt you again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://xeniaraven.tumblr.com)? I guess that's a thing people do?
> 
> For those that skipped: Zara gets beaten for getting Obi-Wan the head scarf and shoes. She gets taken to the market to be sold. Obi-Wan takes a beating because Frena cannot beat Anakin the way she would like. 
> 
> This chapter was really difficult for me to write so I hope it turned out well. I think I rewrote it like 4 times to get it to this point. I look forward to seeing y'all on Chapter 5!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, promising a consistent update schedule and then not following it? Ooops. I beg for forgiveness for that and also any typos as this chapter was not beta read. 
> 
> This chapter was difficult for me to write as my muse kinda left for a bit and then I felt I had to catch up on my own story which is strange. All of that said I was able to get out what I wanted to get out, even if that meant the muse asked me to stray a bit from my original outline. I do hope you enjoy this chapter!!! 
> 
> No trigger warnings necessary. (y'all even get some cuteness. As a treat for waiting so long)

Anakin could tell once morning came that everything had changed. The absence of Zara grew on everyone. Obi-Wan was quieter, far more unlike himself. He must have been in a fog for days. Even laundry day, which is incredibly jarring for freshies, didn't phase him in the slightest. He looked so far in a trance that he might not have even registered what was happening. Anakin had seen it plenty of times before: the initial shock after your first big whipping. The reality sinking into you like quicksand, where wiggling and flailing against it would only come to make reality swallow you faster.

Alahsay kept a close eye on Anakin, to the point where he could practically feel her gaze burn holes into him. She became overly protective, something Anakin was only used to after they had taken his mother away. Her hand always came to rest on Anakin's shoulder, and she became insistent on being within arms reach of him in their sleeping pile. Anakin couldn't find it in himself to tell her to stop, that this was only making the divide between Obi-Wan and him worse. But Alahsay was only trying to comfort herself. Reminder herself that she still had Anakin, even if Zara was gone. So Anakin tolerated it. He was far too kind to do anything less.

Mostly he had become concerned about Obi-Wan, but with Alahsay's overbearing watch he felt there was no way to talk to him. The way he fidgeted more frequently with his inhibiting collar told Anakin he was uncomfortable from far more than just the wounds he knew were blossoming into scars along his back. While his dissociative trance had lessened, it only brought forth new habits and patterns as a physical distraction, rather than mental. Anakin didn't have to read Obi-Wan's mind to know homesickness when he saw it. Though it looked a bit different. A shift from homesickness to something else, and somewhere in there a tinge of guilt. 

He was entirely unsure of where the guilt crept in, but something in his gut felt that it was for this Master Qui-Gon he had mentioned, whose name he mumbled about at night, just before startling himself away. Anakin seemed to be the only person who noticed that his nightmares were getting worse. No matter how many times they’d lock eyes at night, the same time they did so many nights ago, Obi-Wan would just roll over a bit, wince, and try to fall back asleep again. 

Anakin could take a hint. 

Obi-Wan didn’t want him anymore. 

Sometimes the twists of fate like to play the worst types of games, and Anakin’s heart sunk when Frena announced that morning that Obi-Wan was to go back out in the field and check the vaporators with Anakin again. It had been a while since he had last been out there, so it wasn’t a shock he would be going out. The surprise came that Obi-Wan would be going again. Frena had to have seen the tension. Obi-Wan was useless weight working on the vaporators since he never had the chance to learn with Anakin.

“Master is going to have a droid waiting for you out there to check the codes,” Desmir said once they had exited their transport. He unlocked their cuffs, Anakin watching as Obi-Wan rubbed his wrists as soon as he was freed. “Back by sunset. There’s parts in the bag but Master isn’t too concerned that they’re broken. His words were to just let us know if there’s something you couldn’t fix and he’ll get you the parts.”

“That’s new.” Anakin tried to muffle his laugh, falling slightly.

“Don’t take advantage of his kindness Anakin,” Desmir glared at him. “You know how  _ unkind _ he can be.”

“Let’s just get this done,” Obi-Wan said shortly, grabbing their pack and walking away before Desmir turned to leave. 

Anakin wondered what he had done wrong; how he had come to make Obi-Wan feel so tense and stressed. Surely he didn’t hold a grudge against him for what had happened before? His yells outside their hut still haunted Anakin’s dreams. The only other sounds he remembered so clearly were that of his mother, and the rare moments she cried. 

Alahsay had asked Anakin one night after everyone else had gone to sleep  _ Why Obi-Wan? Why him out of the family you have here? _ At the time he didn’t have an answer. It was selfish of him to like him only because he was a Jedi. Realistically he was more than that. He was a person with a world inside of him. But Anakin was desperate to know the world he had so often dreamed about, the world he imagined might find him one day amongst the sand, and buy his freedom to take him away to train. That maybe if he trained hard enough he could free the slaves. 

So he found solace in Obi-Wan. In the way he acted and presented himself as a force user and Jedi. In a strange way, Anakin felt like he was part of something even from planets away. But it was selfish, and Anakin knew it. So when Obi-Wan decided he wasn’t worth the time, that was that. A selfish habit being broken. Perhaps it was for the best. 

"How was breakfast?" Anakin asked, trying his best to break the suffocating silence that sat between them. 

"Same as usual. Dry. Tasteless," Obi-Wan stood tall and proud but refused to look at Anakin. After all, Anakin didn't deserve the attention for such a silly question. 

“Much the same as everything here,” Anakin smiled half-heartedly. 

Just as Desmir has told them, Master had a droid waiting for them by their first vaporator. He wasn’t in the best of shape, could absolutely use some work on his wires and circuits, but Anakin didn’t have the time for that. So instead he tried his best to talk to the droid, get to know his backstory, and show him kindness while they were together. It wasn’t easy, having to deal with sentences that cut off halfway and phrases that weren’t worded correctly, but Anakin was easy enough with him. It wasn’t until they were at the fourth vaporator tower that Obi-Wan finally spoke up again. 

“How can you talk to them so easily?” Obi-Wan asked, opting to sit in the sand next to Anakin as they waited for the droid to be finished reading the codes. Anakin had his back up against the vaporator tower, slouched just slightly as he basked in the warmth of the twin suns. 

“They’re interesting,” Anakin shrugged, his shoulders lifting up a bit too high and bringing a half-grin to Obi-wan’s face. “They’re sentient and they have lives of their own. Yes they’re created for aiding in anything we need, but we gave them emotions and minds so they’re as close to us as possible.”

“But they’re still just mechanics. Just metal and wire and programming,” Obi-Wan pressed, still fully unable to understand. He didn’t dislike droids, just didn’t understand Anakin’s fascination with knowing them as more than workers.

“I think I like them because they’re like me. I was raised to be nothing but programming to do a job just like them,” Anakin paused for a moment, trying to find the right words in his mind. “How am I different from them besides the fact that I have organs and they don’t?”

“You tinker with them though. That must make you different.”

“I tinker with them as maintenance the same way you or I need food, showers-” Anakin turned to stare at Obi-Wan for the next part of his sentence. “emotional support. They need the same kind of care, but it’s more fixing loose wires and oiling joints. Same concept, different kinds of care.”

“M-Master Anakin I have finished,” their droid finally said, staring down at him.

“Why don’t you go onto the next one, we’ll catch up,” Anakin smiled at him.

“Yes sir,” the droid happily walked away from them, skittering across the sand to the next tower. 

Anakin didn’t really know what to say to Obi-Wan after that, but he also didn’t feel as if their conversation was finished. He wanted to ask what he did wrong. What had happened in that mind of his? What had broken?

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started, picking up a fistful of sand and letting it slide between the cracks of his fingers. “I want to apologize. I’ve… Well, I pushed you away and it was entirely unfair.”

“Oh no please,” Anakin started, rushing over the sand to sit at his side. “We all need space. I should’ve done more, said more. Reached out, I don’t know.”

“I appreciated the space,” Obi-Wan smiled at him before looking down again, capturing another handful of sand. “I needed to think through some of my own feelings. Understand where it was I was at in my own time and on my own terms.”

“Oh.” Anakin let out a defeated sigh. This was the point Obi-Wan would tell him to leave him alone, he just knew it. This was the end of their friendship, even if they had to continue to share each other’s room and livelihood against their will.

“I appreciate you, but I myself feel as if I’ve been guarded. I’ve been holding onto a standard that’s impossible to keep here. I lost my right to call myself a Jedi the minute I lost my Master.”

“I don’t understand,” Anakin mumbled out.

“We were on Naboo. Qui-Gon said something was afoot. Qui-Gon being my Master that is. The Council, Jedi Council, had heard news of another Sith in the world. And as Jedi, you might already know, but Sith are our enemy. They manifest their powers in the dark side of the force, something that I have unfortunately already touched once. I tainted myself, and perhaps that’s why the Force decided this to be my fate.”

“I still don’t understand Obi-Wan,” Anakin moved again to sit knee to knee with him in the sand, reaching out to tentatively grab his hand in support. “How  _ did _ you get here?”

“We ran into a Sith, though I’m still not entirely sure if it’s the Sith we were actually trying to discover. His name was Darth Maul, a Dathomirian. Do you know what that is Anakin?”

“No, not entirely. We get lots of different species out here in the Outer Rim, but I’ve never heard of them.”

“Well, I will try my best to describe him. He’s tall, all red with black markings covering his face. And Sith, well Sith don’t have eyes like ours. Their eyes are yellow, a dead give away that they’re dark side users. And the top of his head has horns growing out of it, spiky short horns that grow kinda like your fingernails grow, but it’s almost like hair to him.”

“That sounds kind of weird.” Anakin started drawing patterns in the sand, distracting his mind a bit as Obi-Wan continued with his story.

“It’d call him creepy but I suppose weird works as well,” Obi-Wan chuckled just slightly, the reverberations of it not truly reaching his heart. “Master Qui-Gon and I got into a battle with him. My Master was a good Jedi, believed in the power of the Force, and I can imagine him believing that this battle was the will of it. And as I cried after he died I repeated to myself his same saying, that it was the will of the Force he wouldn’t win and I needed to let him go. No attachments.”

Obi-Wan paused, Anakin watching his mind race with each and every flicker of emotion that fluttered across his face. He had seen the same expressions cross all of his family’s face, across his own mother’s as she contemplated how far to go in telling Anakin stories of when she was free. How much of the world she wanted to reveal to Anakin. 

“And I’m young, I’m still learning. My Master was an incredible teacher, and perhaps if I was a bit older I could have won. But my technique was sloppy, rushed, as I tapped into that anger. That stupid anger I should have never had,” Obi-Wan was visibly frustrated, fisting his hands into the sand and punching at it lightly. “And I failed him, Maul captured me. And I’m here.”

“Why not just kill you?” Anakin breathed out, scared of the answer himself. He wouldn’t want his life if it meant not meeting Obi-Wan, but he also understood that his own life was out of his hand. His life had never been his to begin with. 

“He could have. I’ve considered the same question. I think he means to break me. And what better way to break a Jedi than take away the Force and their freedom?”

“What’s the Force like?” Anakin asked, trying to switch topics from the one that was slowly pulling Obi-Wan into his own thoughts. He didn’t need to spiral out here in the heat. It was the worst way to work through thoughts, especially when Anakin wasn’t the best help. 

“That’s a topic for another day,’ Obi-Wan finally looked up at him, adoration settled into his eyes on top of the sadness that was simmering deep within. “Come on, let’s go catch up with that droid.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan continued to work for the rest of the day, Anakin fixing only a rare few towers, and simply making small talk as they went through the day. Halfway through it, Anakin found a vaporator that it looked like a few raiders got to, the interior missing a few parts that looked ripped out instead of actually disassembled, or just broken. 

“Kriff,” Anakin mumbled out. “This is going to take a bit.”

“I’m sure we have enough time to take care of it,” Obi-Wan encouraged him, placing their pack down and rummaging through it to find the tools Anakin was most likely to ask for, and placing them at the top. 

Anakin worked tirelessly at the wires, pulling them out, replacing them, tightening loose bolts, and hoping that somehow, someway, he’d be able to bypass a few things and get it functioning at half capacity again. But as he reached back in, as far as possible, head hitting against the cool metal, he miscalculated, pulling his hand out quickly and screaming, clutching at it. 

Obi-Wan convulsed at the smell of burning skin, the stench of it enough to call back battles he’d rather have forgotten. Anakin was crying, every curse in any language he could imagine falling from his lips as he sunk to the sand, clutching his burnt and blistering arm with his good hand. 

“Rip off some of your robes!” Anakin yelled, pleading, looking up at him from the sand. “Hurry!”

But Obi-Wan couldn’t. He stared down at it, hands ready to rip the edge of the fabric, but his training kept skipping in his voice. Robes were to be kept in good condition. They were after all part of his appearance, and a Padawan learner is to never look unkempt. 

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin screamed, cussing again into the air before them between a slew of cries. “Please!”

“I-” Obi-Wan started, his own moral dilemma keeping him from finishing his sentence.

“Kriff __ I’ll do it myself!” Anakin yelled as he brought a corner of his shirt up between his teeth, ripping a long strip before biting it off. Quickly he wrapped up his arm, careful around the patches of raw skin and blisters. 

“What was that?!” Anakin yelled after he had tied the wrappings all the way around his hand and up his forearm. “Are you so proud you can’t even help someone screaming in pain?!”

“I just- it’s just-I-” Obi-Wan mumbled over and over again, watching as Anakin stood back up, getting as close to his face as he could, still clutching at his arm. 

“You’re a slave! A slave Obi-Wan! Your appearance doesn’t matter! You, your own identity, whatever you’re still holding on to it doesn’t matter!” Anakin yelled out before even realizing what he had said. 

“You’re right,” Obi-Wan finally spoke, Anakin flipping suddenly from anger to sorrow, an expression that would have tugged harshly at Obi-Wan’s heart if he had any more of it to give. “I’m not a Jedi. The second Maul disgracefully cut off my braid with his saber I was nothing but a slave. And I will continue to be a slave until I die with this collar around my neck. Does that satisfy you?”

Anakin stood there, shocked by the calm demeanor of Obi-Wan, his words dripping with malice that would rival the most poisonous beast. They simply watched each other for what felt like hours between them, each too terrified to move. The twin suns were the only true witness to either their eventual understanding or their permanent demise. 

“I imagine you didn’t mean that towards me,” Obi-Wan said tentatively after a while, watching Anakin rock nervously on his heels. 

“Not entirely, no. Well really not at all,” Anakin spoke just above a whisper, aware that he had already overstepped, the sand below their feet heated so much by their words it was practically glass at this point. 

“But I am a slave now,” Obi-Wan whispered out, mostly to himself. “You’re correct in that sense.”

“I didn’t mean to shout it at you though.” Anakin hung his head, swinging his boot back and forth in the sand, kicking the topmost layer back and forth nervously. 

“I know Anakin,” Obi-Wan came in front of Anakin, reaching out to cradle his cheek in his hand, watching as Anakin, shocked, pulled his head up quickly before relaxing down into the touch. “But there’s something you must understand. Just because you’re a slave doesn’t mean you and your own convictions don’t matter. We are allowed to hold on to the things that matter to us, that make us who we are, so long as those same things don’t destroy us in the end.”

Anakin simply nodded, hyper-aware of the feeling of Obi-Wan’s palm against his cheek. The few callouses he could feel on his fingertips grazing across the smooth, flushed skin of Anakin’s face. But he could only revel in it for a moment before the burn of his arm came shooting back into his consciousness from the retreat of his adrenaline. 

They got back too late, Anakin assuring their droid that their Master would take good care of him and there was nothing to worry about. In the back of his mind, he wondered if it was a lie, wondered if he had just promised something he would never be able to keep, but it was at least assurance that someone had loved this lone droid, and he could hold onto that memory for as long as this batch of memories survived. 

“Frena says you both have to sleep outside for the night,” Desmir came to them after dinner. “No robe as a pillow either Kenobi. No blankets. Just you and the bitter night air.”

The air was indeed bitter, not entirely cold, but just cold enough to seep into their bones and make it vastly too uncomfortable to sleep. But Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely unused to sleeping outside. There were plenty of missions where he had to sleep on the floor. Sand was different though: laying your head onto a pile of it meant feeling granules slide against your skin all night, worrying that one of them was a bug, or perhaps you were going to be able to shake out an entire beach in the morning. 

“I hate sand,” Anakin mumbled out from where he lay across from Obi-Wan. “This is why I hate sand.”

“Did they make you sleep outside a lot as a child?” 

“Sometimes. Mostly it was to get me from being so dependent on my mother growing up. But then again, they didn’t seem to do a very good job at it. They hated my tantrums and it became more of a punishment for Frena than for me, so they eventually let me back inside every night.”

“I suppose that’s one way to do it,” Obi-Wan chuckled. 

They were already being punished so it didn’t matter if the guards heard them tonight. They’d take whatever punishment came their way for a night of talking and giggling like children again. Obi-Wan telling him every ridiculous thing that himself and the other padawans got in to. The many sparring matches where he swore he was going to win, and then got absolutely demolished by a slight misstep, or someone a bit too pretty walking around the corner. Anakin was all too keen to hear, to get that deep laughter out of Obi-Wan’s chest and fluttering into the night sky. For once they felt free. If it wasn’t for the heavy weight around both of their necks, they might have imagined that the world was only one jump to lightspeed away. 

Anakin was shivering more and more as the night went on, the cool air creeping past his thin clothing and into his bones. Eventually, he’d shiver himself to exhaustion, but Obi-Wan noticed and motioned for him to come closer. 

“Are you sure?” Anakin hesitated. He thought Obi-Wan didn’t like anyone laying near him, or at least not often. 

“I’m not going to let you deprive yourself of sleep because of the cold. Come here,” Obi-Wan held his arm out to Anakin, letting him settle himself against his side before Anakin decided to lay on Obi-Wan’s chest, looking up at him. It was peaceful, comforting, and much warmer. He only worried that it’d slip into something more than just friendship, and maybe it already had. 

“What’s it like out there,” Anakin asked, rolling over to lay on the soft part of Obi-Wan’s shoulder, pointing a finger up into the sky, tracing the few constellations he could remember his mother teaching him. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like the worlds that aren’t Tatooine. What are they like? Tell me about the world where you grew up.”

"Off-world is beautiful," Obi-Wan smiled, letting the content sigh reach his voice. "I basically grew up on Coruscant which is where the Jedi Temple is."

"What's Coruscant like?" Anakin asked, the words fumbling from his mouth as he tried to shape it around the strange combination of consonants and vowels. As Obi-Wan started describing it, he closed his eyes, imagining a new world just behind his eyelids. 

"Well, it's busy. There's no sand. It's all durasteel and tall buildings. Neon signs and crime. But it's beautiful. There are hundreds of lanes of speeders coming from every direction that extends all the way into the horizon. Huge skyscrapers touch the clouds, shimmering in the distance as a symbol of luxury to all of those that live in the lower levels. There are all different people from different planets that come to visit, each one speaking a new language or bringing a new part of their culture. It’s fascinating to watch, to see how the galaxy comes together at this pinnacle. But it’s also overwhelming, trying to learn in a world so full of businesses without a chance to find rest in yourself."

"Does it rain?" Anakin asked after it seemed Obi-Wan had trailed off.

"Sometimes yes. There are not many spaces with greenery, but there are decorative trees and flowers lining parts of the city. And there’s one garden I know of. It's glorious. Oftentimes I would go clear my head out there, letting my hands fall over the different leaves and petals. I don’t have time to myself often, as time is somewhat of a luxury, so those few moments are indescribable. The petals can be so soft, and the leaves can sometimes have razor-sharp edges. Each plant seems to have its own personality."

Obi-Wan could see Anakin rubbing his fingers together, imagining each plant he described, how they felt under his own fingertips. It was perhaps the first time Anakin had someone who could describe such things to him. He could tell it was calming, Anakin’s breathing finally slowing, deepening, just on the verge of sleep. For once, Obi-Wan finally saw Anakin as he was: just a scared kid trying to get by. A kid who never had a childhood, but who did have an imagination that reached to the edge of the galaxy and back.

"What's your favorite planet?" Anakin asked, desperately trying to imagine every scene Obi-Wan painted for him.

"I don't really have one. I think you'd enjoy Naboo though. I have a friend from there. She's a Senator, someone who helps with laws to make the world better, and she represents Naboo. There are some beautiful cities but I think you'd love the countryside with the waterfalls. There's a beautiful lake and the wildlife seems endless. My Master and I accompanied Senator Amidala as her protection personnel on a few occasions."

Anakin could barely imagine it: an entire lake standing before him, shimmering in the sunlight. Not a mirage of the Dune Sea, not a figment of his dreams, but a real lake. He reached his hand upwards into the nothingness before him, wondering what the rains of Naboo or Coruscant would feel like on his skin. How the water droplets would roll down his arm, dripping from his fingertips. 

Slowly as he drifted to sleep he imagined the feeling of soft grass underneath him. Obi-Wan had described it to him so many times, yet he couldn't entirely place it. He imagined it as the softest blanket he had ever felt, the tips of blades tickling his ears, a much better feeling than the sand. A warm breeze fluttering over him in the darkness of the night, playing with the curls of his hair. Somewhere in the distance, someone joins him on the grass, curling him into his side, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together across his chest, whispering a subtle "goodnight" underneath the starlit sky. 

* * *

In the morning Frena beckoned them both to her side after breakfast. Anakin watched her calm demeanor, how she seemed far too pleased with herself this early in the morning. It sent chills down Anakin’s arms and lit-up warning lights in the back part of his brain. This kind of posture, this kind of attitude, only meant Anakin had done something wrong. He flipped over every possible thing he could have done in the hour he had been awake, even considering if he chewed his food too loudly. 

“Master has requested that you go into the markets today. There is someone Master would like you to meet at the cantina Obi-Wan is working at. And he would like to see you interact with more people.”

“Wait what?!” Anakin choked out, shocked at how this could ever happen. He had never been to the markets, was always told it wasn’t a place for him. Every warning signal in his mind was going off, slowly walking back from Frena, but she only kept his pace, walking forward towards him until he was pressed back against the wall. 

“Yes, the market. Please be nice to our guest. And try to enjoy yourself. Master believes it’s important to see if you can play nicely with others given that your birthday is one week away. He won’t be having you as an official adult with no social skills.”

“He should’ve thought about that years ago,” Anakin spat back at her. He had always wanted to go to town, see how everything was, maybe see how the world had changed. But this wasn’t the way to do it. And talking to strangers wasn't in his plans for the day either.

“Oh my dear, sweet Anakin. Your little plaything, Obi-Wan, will take good care of you I’m sure,” she bopped the tip of Anakin’s nose with her staff in mock before turning to walk back towards the door. “Transport’s outside. Don’t want to leave your guest waiting too long. That’s poor manners."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments keep me going on this story because it's my first long, chaptered story which is a scary thought. You can find me as xeniaraven on tumblr as well if you'd like to give me a shout.
> 
> Also like, I'll say I haven't read the EU (I'm getting there!) and this is an AU so don't hate me that I made up a bit of backstory. *hides*


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